Trigger Warnings: none
Does anyone realise how hard the truth is to keep hold of when no one arounds you speaks it?
We make the world around us through a combination of our perception and the use of words.
This is what social constructionism proposes. It dictates that social constructs - anything/everything - are products of human interpretation and definitions. Our senses take in the universe around us and we construct its meaning using the building blocks of language. Without words and our collective understanding of their definitions, the world is shapeless. If an experience or idea is not communicable, for all intents and purposes, it may as well not exist.
And we don't create our understanding alone. Reality is a collaborative project - we rely on the perspectives of others to craft our own. Together, we struggle to define and describe the human experience, creating our very own 'truths'. We build on the work of philosophers, artists, academics, all in search of a way to describe our unique views.
So, what happens when your version of events and existence stands alone? What if your 'truth' contains aspects that others cannot - for whatever reason - know or grasp? Without the conveyance and conversation, how do you anchor the truth to the rest of reality? If a truth isn't told, is it still true and of any consequence?
For those with secrets, with mysteries, with out-of-this-world experiences, this is something they must grapple with. Perhaps the words to describe their experiences may exist but never cross their lips, either through choice or necessity. Or perhaps words are insufficient - neither capturing nor expressing things just right. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter.
Imagine a reality where your distinct truth becomes imprisoned within the confines of your own mind. All around you, people exist with a perspective so different, they are virtually irreconcilable. You cannot strengthen your own mind's reality or memories with the help of others - even though they scream within your mind. There are no assurances from others that it is real, just your own brain reliving the agony of the mystery over and over again.
Living with a truth others cannot ever experience or even know exists never gets easier. The cognitive dissonance - the mental clash - between what you hear others say and your own 'knowledge' eats away at you. No matter how much evidence you have, the constant element of doubt confuses and makes you question your own mind. You gaslight yourself, unable to fully reconcile your perspective.
The truth may die in darkness but it also perishes in a world not ready to hear it.
~*~
June 2023
Dysis trailed off typing and let out a sigh.
She wasn't sure where to go next. How was she supposed to scream 'Am I supposed to change my view of my entire life based on a handful of conversations with a singular person?' in a way that sounded intelligent.
She slumped in her chair, exasperated. Never in her entire life had words and philosophy let her down as much as they were now. The problem wasn't so much that the words didn't exist, it was more that they failed to be able to define the problems she faced, let alone her experiences of them. She supposed she should be grateful for her dusty psychology degree for getting her as far as she had. She just wished it made a bigger dent.
However, as much as she wished for it, there were no magic words to put her experiences across. And, she feared, there never would be.
Ciaran's secretive conversations had transformed her life forever. The ripples the splash had made had never ceased even though more than a year had passed. Sure, it was only about three months since she'd remembered what was going on in any detail but that didn't matter. Her life had been entirely rearranged, whether she liked it or not.
She also now battled a permanent sense of not understanding what had occurred in her own life. So much had been hidden from her, so many lies told, her perspective of nearly every single person she cared about had been shaken violently. Her truth was now that she knew nothing. Or more specifically, she had several versions of the potential truth in her head, all of which could be substantiated or fabricated depending on what she deemed reliable evidence. And she was pretty certain that this reality would be with her for the rest of her life.
Dysis sighed. Ciaran had joked that her entire life had been one long elaborated escape room and she was beginning to believe that that wasn't far from the truth. Except she'd found it more accurate to describe it as an escape room crossed with a complex locked-room mystery with a lavish dose of red herrings on the side.
Her life had become twisted and stained with inky blackness. The metaphorical faces of her loved ones had shifted and warped before her eyes. They were now strange, alien creatures that could be hiding malice and reality.
Places she had once loved and felt safe in became desaturated nightmares, with even the most familiar place feeling uncanny to her. It was an incredibly weird feeling. It was like her mind had been flung into the Upside Down.
Dysis nearly let out a chuckle. Or, more accurately, a bitter giggle. In her pursuit of truth, she had lost everything - including her relationship - and gained little. At this point, despite suspecting that Five Nights At Freddy's had potentially been created and maintained by someone (or multiple people) close to her, she still had no clue precisely whom had been involved. Ciaran had crafted a careful, well-evidenced web of potential theory starters that made any concept feasible. Some more than others, based on in-game evidence, but that didn't narrow it down much.
As for the other things Ciaran had said, well… it was anyone's guess. Did she really have a neural implant? Or was her ‘psychic abilities’ the result of mysteriously sourced meat? Or was the thought reading the result of external government technology? She couldn't say. All she knew was that her specially modified phone seemingly had an uncanny ability to respond to her innermost thoughts.
Was there really a group of quiet onlookers that knew her family's story? The idea haunted her. As much as she wanted to say otherwise, there was a disturbing amount of evidence pointing towards it. Songs with wording too close for comfort. Animations reflecting family nuance only someone with intimate details would know. Fan games that seamlessly built on the secret story delivered by the real games. She'd laughed. She'd gawped. Her heart had been torn apart.
To deny everything she'd experienced would fly in the face of evidence. And yet, she still doubted herself continually. Was her memory accurate? Was she sane? She didn’t know.
But she knew that the only way to find out was to go deeper down the rabbit hole.
A/N: Chapter 1 has been almost totally rewritten to aid with clarity and story accessibility. Read it now.
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